Page 8 of Pumpkins & Promises
"But then we kept running into each other in town," I continue, "and we realized we'd both been a little ridiculous that first day."
"How romantic," Mom sighs.
"What convinced you to ask her out?" Dylan asks, still in full interrogation mode.
Wesley glances at me, and there's something warm in his expression. "She brought me muffins when she barely knew me, just because she thought I might be having a rough time. That kind of thoughtfulness is rare."
"And what about you?" Sienna asks me. "What made you say yes?"
I look at Wesley, remembering our conversation about ground rules and the way he'd described me as genuine. "He actually listens when I talk. And he doesn't try to fix everything. He just... hears me."
Something flickers across Wesley's face, and for a moment, I forget we're acting.
Dinner conversation flows easier than I expected. Wesley asks thoughtful questions about Highland Hollow, compliments Mom's cooking with just the right amount of detail, andsomehow manages to get Dylan talking about his favorite festival memories instead of grilling him about his intentions.
"You know," Mom says as she serves dessert, "it's so nice to see Emily with someone who appreciates her. She works so hard, sometimes I worry she forgets to take care of herself."
"I've noticed that," Wesley says, squeezing my hand. "She's always thinking about everyone else first."
"That's our Emily," Dylan says, and his tone has softened considerably. "The responsible twin."
"Someone has to be," I protest, but Wesley just smiles.
"It's one of the things I love about her," he says, and the word 'love' makes my stomach flip even though I know he doesn't mean it.
After dinner, we help clear the table, and I catch Wesley actually laughing at one of Dylan's stories about a customer who tried to use a chainsaw to carve a jack-o'-lantern. By the time we say our goodbyes, even Dylan seems genuinely pleased.
"Nice meeting you," he tells Wesley at the door, shaking his hand with actual warmth this time.
"Likewise. Thanks for including me."
"You'll have to come back soon," Mom says, which earns her a warning look from me.
"I'd like that," Wesley replies, and something in his voice makes me think he means it.
As we walk back toward town, our hands naturally finding each other again, I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
"So," Wesley says, "how did I do?"
"Better than expected," I admit. "You actually seemed to enjoy yourself."
"I did." He sounds surprised. "Your family's nice. Different from what I'm used to."
"Different how?"
"Warmer. More..." He searches for the word. "Genuine, I guess. No performance, no agenda. Just people who clearly care about each other."
There's something wistful in his voice that makes me study his face in the streetlight.
"What's your family like?"
"Complicated," he says simply. "My parents are still married, but they barely speak to each other. My sister lives in California and calls twice a year out of obligation. Family dinners are more like strategic negotiations than actual conversations."
"That sounds lonely."
"Yeah," he says quietly. "It is."
We walk in comfortable silence for a moment, and I realize that for all his smooth charm and easy confidence, Wesley Thorne might be just as lonely as I am.
